


honey

by tellmeagain



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2020-10-24 06:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20701535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmeagain/pseuds/tellmeagain
Summary: Quinn and Santana as more than a two-time thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> absolute scenes to have me writing Glee fanfiction after 7 years out of the fandom
> 
> inspired by this ship meme on Tumblr  
https://downmoonwrites.tumblr.com/post/106929336343/shipping-meme
> 
> Quinn and Santana as girlfriends.

**who falls asleep on the couch **

Drool dribbles from the corner of Quinn’s mouth, and Santana’s barely able to stifle a laugh, lightly tugging away the paperback splayed open on Quinn’s chest. Quinn would hate it if she got drool on one of her Franzen novels.

God, Santana’s girlfriend is a fucking loser. 

She knows she can save herself a few minutes by simply tossing the throw over Quinn’s body, heading into their room, and calling it a night. 

On the other hand, Santana’s not really in the mood to hear Quinn bitching about how her back hurts all of tomorrow morning. And,  _ fine _ , sleeping without her sucks pretty bad. Something about the mattress feeling too big or whatever. 

So, she bends down next to the couch, and brushes tangles of hair away from Quinn’s forehead. “Hi, Q,” she coaxes softly. 

Quinn stirs for a second before her body jerks in alertness, her hand immediately clutching at her chest. “Did I lose my page?” she croaks tiredly, and Santana doesn’t have the willpower to hide an eye roll. 

“Don’t worry, I dog-eared,” she says, hating the fact that’s a normal sentence to come out of her mouth nowadays. “Get your ass up to bed with me.” 

“‘Kay.” Quinn groans as she stretches out her limbs. “C’mere,” she balls up a fist of Santana’s t-shirt to tug her in for a kiss. 

  
“ _ Gross,  _ sleepy breath,” Santana complains, less than a second before going in for another one. “Let’s go. I’ll let you little spoon.”

**makes friends with the neighbors **

Santana curses through clenched teeth as she watches Quinn converse animatedly with the new tenants three doors down.  _ So what _ that she’s observing this from the tiny ass peephole on their door? 

Because listen, she loves everything about Quinn. She loves how Quinn has the patience to actually do laundry loads by color, how she actually laughs out loud when she’s watching some dumb TV show all by herself, and how she has this... _ charm _ to her that could melt even the hardest of souls. 

The only thing about that last one is that Santana gets dragged into it when Quinn makes close enough friends with the doorman to invite him on a double dinner date to that new sushi joint three blocks East, and-

Jesus, that carton of milk in one of Quinn’s many grocery bags is gonna fucking expire before this conversation does. 

Santana’s about to resign back to her position on the couch when she catches Quinn’s lips mouthing words like  _ Santana  _ and  _ girlfriend,  _ which like, ok cute, but still. Ugh. 

A few more moments pass before it looks like Quinn’s wrapping it up, and Santana doesn’t have time to make herself look busy in the living room, so she spins on her heels and starts closely inspecting a leaf on one of Quinn’s indoor plants. Jesus Christ. 

The door swings open, and Quinn kicks it shut a second later with her foot. “Hey, San.”

“Oh, hey you,” Santana says, far too sweetly to sound normal. She’s quick to help Quinn with the groceries to diffuse the moment. 

“So, I just met Bobby and Sara. They moved into 1206 a couple weeks ago.” 

“Oh?” Santana’s transferring Greek yogurt from bag to fridge when Quinn leans her hip against the kitchen counter and folds her arms over her chest. 

“Yeah, they were the sweetest. And, I mean, their fashion sense was to _die _for. Sara had this J-Crew summer dress on, and Bobby- he uh, he was wearing this...polo, I think? It was, um. Was it green, or-" 

“Navy,” Santana recalls easily, freezing when she realizes that she already lost this quick battle. In a useless attempt to save herself, “I assume.” 

Quinn shakes her head, but there’s a tiny smile playing at her lips. She uncrosses her arms and reaches for Santana’s hands. “They invited us to go with them to the Knicks game next weekend. Apparently Bobby’s new job got him courtside seats.”

Santana’s face immediately scrunches, retracting her hands from Quinn’s because now it’s her turn to cross her arms defiantly. She lowers her gaze to the ground before she can see Quinn’s frown. “Oh, _hell _no, Q, I am not sitting through an entire basketball game watching grown men sweat for 3 hours because you decided to go all _kumbayah_ with complete strangers.” 

Quinn is unfazed, because — well, because she’s Quinn. “Yes, you are,” her voice clips in a way that all but confirms she’s not in the mood for compromise. “One because you’re a fucking  _ adult,  _ Santana, and two….I’ll make it up to you afterwards. I swear on it.” 

They’re standing inches apart now, and Santana finally resigns, her shoulders slumping a little. “You mean we can order that shitty Chinese food I like for date night on Friday?” 

“That’s exactly what I mean.” 

Alright. Fair trade-off. Plus, if they’re sitting courtside, there’s a good chance Santana can embarrass Quinn on the kiss cam. 

**is the adventurous eater **

“Oh, hell no.”

_ “Santana.” _

She taps her chopsticks against her lips as she observes the takoyaki dish Quinn ordered as an appetizer, her eyebrows pinching together. “Q, that bitch is  _ moving  _ on my plate. When did you try this anyway?” 

“When I went out to dinner with Rachel last week,” Quinn shrugs, easily taking one in her mouth. 

“You see, this is why I don’t like you hanging out with her,” Santana mutters, and Quinn shoots her an exasperated look. 

“San, get a grip and try it.” 

Santana does, but only because she knows the sooner they finish it, the sooner their entrees will come out. 

And, yeah _ .  _ It’s pretty good, or something. _ _

But she’d rather swallow her chopsticks than admit Quinn was right, so she simply sits back in her chair and nods. “It’s fine.” 

Quinn wordlessly letting her have the last one is just another reason Santana knows she doesn’t deserve her. 

**hogs the covers at night **

Just for the record, Santana _ lets _Quinn steal the covers. 

It’s just an excuse for them to cuddle even closer. 

**forgets to do the dishes **

Santana’s eyes are trained on her phone as she blindly places her cereal bowl in the sink, wincing when her ears are met with a soft crash. “Whoa, shit.” 

She clicks her phone off and places it on the counter before closely inspecting the sink. She grimaces as she eyes the lopsided pile of bowls, plates, cups, and utensils. “Hey, Q?” 

Quinn doesn’t move from her spot on the couch. “Those are all of your dishes.”

Santana opens her mouth in immediate protest, but then, ok, those are her three coffee mugs, and she recognizes those plates from dinner the past few nights, and — yeah. Fair point. 

She feels gentle arms wrap around her midsection. 

“I hate it when you prove a point.”

“I know,” Quinn presses a kiss to Santana’s cheek. Then she playfully smacks her ass. “Do the dishes, missy.” 

**tries to surprise their partner more often**

Santana smirks to herself as she carefully drops a single sunflower into the brim of an empty beer bottle, placing it in the center of her and Quinn’s dining table.  _ God,  _ that’s romantic as shit. 

Apparently, it’s also the only thing she can do tonight without catastrophic error. 

She waves a dish towel frantically in the air as smoke fills the room after she takes out the chicken breasts from the oven, cursing under her breath when the vegetables on the stove start to burn. “You’re kidding me.” 

Santana switches the stove off, then angrily tosses a knife into the sink when she cuts through the chicken to find it’s  _ still  _ undercooked. 

The only thing that could make this worse is if Quinn comes home early and makes her way through the door, and it must be Santana’s lucky day because that’s exactly what happens a minute later. 

_ “No!”  _ she smushes a hand over Quinn’s face and attempts to lead her blindly to their bedroom. “What are you doing home? You weren’t supposed to be here for another hour.” 

Quinn nearly trips over scattered pairs of shoes, trying to pull at Santana’s wrist. “I had a few meetings cancelled so I took an earlier subway home-  _ Jesus,  _ San, what are you doing? And what is that smell?” 

“...What smell?” 

At that, Quinn plants her feet firmly in place and yanks Santana’s hand away from her face. Her nose scrunches. “What the hell?” She runs to open a few windows and swats the air with the same dish towel Santana used. 

As she watches her, Santana starts to think that maybe that’s not as effective as they initially believed. 

“Santana, what is going on?” Quinn asks, a hand on her hip. God, sometimes she looks just like she did in high school. 

“I- “ Santana wracks her brain for the right words to say that won’t make her seem like an incompetent, love-sick freak. “I was trying to, like, surprise you or whatever.” 

The hard look on Quinn’s face falters. “Surprise me?” she breathes out a small laugh. “For what?” 

Santana’s too busy feeling small and embarrassed to lift her gaze from the floor. “Maybe,” she starts, quiet. “Maybe I was tired of being an asshole and wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Quinn smiles at her; her sweet smile that could move mountains. She pulls Santana in for a quick kiss that somehow holds the meaning of the entire world in a matter of half a second. “Thank you, baby,” her voice is low and soft, and it makes Santana’s knees buckle. She eyes the table before picking up the beer bottle with the sunflower. “You are adorable.” 

Santana’s laughing and rolling her eyes at once. She goes in for another kiss, a longer and deeper one. “Yeah, whatever.”

**leaves dirty laundry on the floor **

“Santana, I’m washing whites today,” Quinn calls out to the kitchen, trudging a full, bulky hamper towards their in-unit washing machine. She kicks bras and boy shorts out of the way as she walks. “And can you pick up your shit? It’s everywhere.” 

Santana doesn’t bother to look up from her phone as she fires back, “You’re the one who took them off me, keep them yourself.” 

**stays up till 2am reading **

Like Santana mentioned, her girlfriend’s a fucking loser. 

The alarm clock harshly lights up _ 2:07 _in bright red, and Santana over-exaggerates as she tries to find a comfortable position in her and Quinn’s shared bed. 

“Q, can we turn the light off soon?” 

“A few more pages.” 

_ “Ugh,” _Santana groans against Quinn’s shoulder. “I miss when the only reason you would stay up this late was to fuck me.” 

Quinn clicks her tongue. “When you force me to listen to you, it takes me longer to wrap this up. You know that, right?”

Too tired to fight back, Santana slings an arm over Quinn’s torso, curling close into her side. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she asks, “read to me?” 

She knows she made the right move when Quinn places a tender kiss to the crown of Santana’s hair.

Santana couldn’t give less of a shit of what Quinn’s actually saying, but Quinn’s voice is her favorite thing in the entire world. 

**sings in the shower **

Like, seriously, her voice is Santana’s _ favorite _thing in the entire world. 

Quinn’s always the one to wake up first, and by the time Santana’s brushing her teeth and swapping her glasses for her contacts, Quinn’s halfway through her shower. 

Quinn hasn’t sung formally since high school, so Santana considers herself kinda lucky that she’s the only one who gets to hear whatever song Quinn’s crooning in the shower that morning. 

The days Quinn’s experiencing a Colbie Calliat kick, Santana makes sure to take extra long at the sink.

**takes the selfies **

It’s rare they’re ever apart, but when Quinn’s traveling on a campaign trail every once in awhile, or Santana takes a weekend trip back to Lima to visit her abuela, Santana misses her girl. Like, _ a lot _a lot. 

Luckily, 80% of the pictures on her phone are selfies she’s taken of the two of them; some sultry ones before dinner dates, some sweaty ones after clubbing. A lot of silly ones when they’re too lazy to get out of bed in the morning. 

Half of them are just Quinn trying to make Santana laugh, and more than half of _ those _are her succeeding. 

She texts Quinn the one they took at Mercedes’ bridal shower a couple months ago, their grinning faces smushed together as they show off champagne glasses. 

She doesn’t add anything to the message, but she doesn’t have to. Quinn knows. 

Lucy Q 😘 

7:04 a.m. 

_ Miss u too, baby. Have a safe flight x _

**plans date night **

Santana orders take-out from their favorite Mexican place, if anything to watch prim and proper Quinn Fabray smear ground beef and salsa all over her cheeks with every bite she takes out of her taco. 

“Hey.” 

“Mm?” 

“I like this.” 

Quinn nods in agreement. “Me, too. I honestly might finish all these chips tonight.” 

“Yeah,” Santana laughs. “But, I mean, like, I like this with you. I like _ everything _with you.” 

Quinn sets her taco down and wipes the grease off her hands with a napkin before reaching over the table and cupping Santana’s cheek, her thumb rubbing over Santana’s cheekbone. “Me too, San.” 

Santana nods with a smile, then she swallows hard. “And I’m- I’m glad we decided to make it more than a two-time thing after Schue’s wedding.” 

For as smart as Quinn is, she doesn’t seem to be picking up on, like, anything. 

So, Santana takes another deep breath. “In fact, I was hoping we could make this...make this a forever thing.” Her fingers fumble as she reaches for the black velvet box deep in the pocket of her sweatpants. 

Quinn’s already crying before Santana kneels down in front of her- of course, she’s this dramatic. 

“Q, _ you’re _my forever thing,” Santana shrugs with a laugh. “Or at least I want you to be. Will you marry me?” 

The ring is slid onto Quinn’s finger before Santana’s being tugged up, before she’s being kissed. Then, teasingly against her lips, “Only because you asked nicely.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn and Santana as wives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I had absolutely no plans to add onto this until I caught the writing bug one night and was too lazy to add to the other thing I've been working on (which involves Quinn, Santana, and a road trip) so here's this LOL.

**who sexts like a straight white boy **

So, Quinn _ knows _she has the sexiest wife in the world. 

It’s truly never been a doubt in her mind. It’s just- the way Santana moves against the sheets, the way she breathes out Quinn’s name like it’s some sacred prayer only _ she _ knows, the way the tips of her fingers know just where on Quinn to press and _ when _. And to absolutely no one’s surprise, she’s what one could call a natural when it comes to dirty talk, too. 

Which is why Quinn cannot figure out for the _ life _ of her where the hell these skills go when Santana starts sexting.

It’s not like it happens that often — their sex life is more than thriving, but every once in awhile, there are days in which their..._needs_...are rather escalated. 

She’s in the middle of lunch with Tina, who’s in town for some work conference, when her phone buzzes twice, face-down on the table. However, she ignores it, because if there’s one thing her mom taught her, it’s table etiquette. 

“You can check it if you want,” Tina says when it buzzes a third time. “Seriously, I don’t mind.”

Quinn starts to shake her head, but then her mind flashes with the possibility that it could be some emergency, so she murmurs an apology and opens up her messages. 

Santana Fabray-Lopez

12:41pm

_ Stillll in bed. And totally wish u were here with me _

_ Just thinking about what I’d do to u if u were _

_ 👅 _

There are so many things Quinn wants to address. One being why Santana hasn’t gotten out of bed even though it’s well past noon. Two being how Santana could be _ this _ horny in the middle of the afternoon. Three being that that tongue emoji should be used by no one who isn’t a high school boy, and four being the fact that despite all of that, Quinn still feels a pulsing ache between her legs.

So she swallows down a deep gulp and quickly shuts her phone off, setting it back face-down on the table. 

“Everything good?” Tina asks through a bite of her chicken sandwich. Quinn shrugs it off with a laugh and the wave of her hand. 

“Yeah. Santana just needs me to pick up some milk on my way home.”

**digs through the toy bins at thrift stores **

Maybe it’s a result of living in the city ever since she’s been out of high school, but Santana is a mover. As in, let’s get exactly what we need from point A so that we can get to point B.

Quinn, on the other hand, has since taught herself the importance of slowing down. Because just because a moment is little doesn’t mean it’s insignificant. So, while she takes her time rummaging through an old toy bin at the thrift store they’ve been shopping at, Santana’s tapping her foot impatiently right next to her. 

“Q, I’m gonna miss the beginning of _ Game of Thrones _ and I forgot to record it.”

“Just hold on a second,” Quinn mumbles, unbothered. There’s something about going through these old, unwanted toys that makes her feel both happy and sad. She giggles as she stumbles upon a Chinese finger trap, and Santana breathes out a quiet laugh of her own when they each stick a finger in either end and tug and tug until they’re released. 

Then Quinn picks up this small stuffed elephant. It’s been thoroughly cleaned and washed, though it still has a worn look from use. She wiggles it a little in her hands, because it reminds her of the toys her grandparents would buy for her as a kid whenever they were in town. 

She wishes they could’ve been there for the wedding, and she wishes they could’ve met Santana, because they would’ve _ loved _ her. Well, at least once the shock wore off that Santana was much more than just a friend. But her grandpa passed away her freshman year of college and the last she heard, her grandma was living with her dad.

So, instead of tossing the elephant back in the bin, she holds it closer and pulls Santana back towards the registers.

“We’re naming him Edwin,” she says simply, as a matter-of-fact, and Santana raises an eyebrow before reaching out to shake one of his legs between her fingers.

“Nice to meet you, new roomie.”

**laughs more during sex**

Years of being with Santana has meant years of learning each other’s bodies; years of learning that Quinn likes to thread her fingers through Santana’s hair and tug when she’s right _ there, _learning that Santana — no matter how hard she tries to remain in control — will go absolutely crazy the second Quinn will return the dirty talk. But also learning that the sex is much more than that for the both of them. 

“C’mon, Q,” Santana’s murmuring in her ear one afternoon, two fingers buried deep in Quinn because the Netflix movie playing quietly on their TV hasn’t shown much promise of an engaging plot. When Quinn tips her head back and reaches a hand up to tangle fingers through Santana’s hair, _ “Fuck_, Quinn.”

And Quinn is so close- her jaw going slack and her eyes flitting closed, Santana’s name begging to be released from her lips, and just when she’s formulating the S with her tongue, all that comes out is —

A hiccup. A loud, full hiccup. 

Her eyes flit open and Santana’s fingers start to slow their pumping, because in all the times they’ve done this (and it’s been...a lot of times), this has _ never _ happened before. 

Quinn starts to frown, not because she’s embarrassed but because she definitely lost her orgasm. But then she and Santana lock eyes, and she’s not sure which one of them starts, but then they’re both giggling. 

“You’re kidding,” Santana teases, and Quinn just laughs harder before pulling Santana flush against her chest. “Girl, the _ hell_?” Santana’s grinning against Quinn’s collarbone, and Quinn starts to scratch lightly at her scalp.

“Sorry,” she can’t stop laughing because she can feel Santana’s shoulders still shaking with laughter. Then, _ another _hiccup, which sends them both into another fit. 

Quinn’s basically out of breath by the time they settle down, and she barely has the time to catch it before Santana’s maneuvering them and patting Quinn’s hip.

“It’s your turn,” Quinn starts to protest, but Santana just shakes her head. 

“Not until you finish,” she says. “Now come sit on my face.”

**gives better hugs **

Whether Quinn likes it or not, Santana knows her better than anyone. Which, then, can translate to Santana knowing Quinn’s having a bad day before Quinn can even say that she doesn’t want to talk about it.

And today, she’s pissed and frustrated and so..._annoyed _ because she was uncharacteristically unprepared for a meeting this morning, her boss keeps extended his vacation days so Quinn’s been forced to pick up some extra weight, she barely had time to eat her lunch, and she couldn’t even find a seat on the subway ride home, _ and _-

Santana’s easy smile greets her when she gets home. “Hey, you.”

“Hi,” Quinn shoots her a tight smile in return, and even the simple motion of Santana kissing her causes her muscles to relax, but it must not show because Santana’s tugging her back by her wrist when she starts to stalk off to their bedroom. 

“Whoa there. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Quinn mumbles, because recounting everything will only make her more upset, and God, it’s so _ stupid _ when tears start to burn at her eyes, but it’s just that bad days can hit her so hard.

Santana knows this, of course, so she just nods her head. “Ok. C’mere, baby girl,” she outstretches her arms, and Quinn wastes no time sinking into them gratefully. “You’re ok,” Santana reassures, squeezing even tighter, and when Quinn’s face nuzzles into the crook of Santana’s neck, Quinn’s sure she could stay like this forever.

Because there’s something about the way Santana hugs her that’s not even there when they kiss or hold hands or have sex, that lets Quinn know she’ll always be safe here. That no matter how much shit the rest of the world will throw at her, she’ll always have this. She’ll always have Santana. 

She’s not sure how long they stay that way — time has this way of escaping her whenever she finds herself in one of these hugs — but before she knows it Santana’s wiping at her tears with her thumbs. “I’m proud of you,” she says, and even though Quinn hasn’t said a word about her day, she knows it’s true. 

So she kisses Santana again and makes a mental note to reward her their next date night.

**their favorite non-sexual activity **

They may be married now, but Quinn and Santana are still as competitive as they were in high school. 

So, they’ve learned to steer clear of things like board games and card games — because one Uno match can result in Santana sleeping on the couch for the night — and instead channel that drive into healthier outlets. 

Which is how they find themselves jogging 3 miles at the nearby park together every Sunday morning. 

They always stay even with each other the entire way, and sometimes it reminds Quinn too much of Cheerios practices, but all it tells her is that Santana’s always been her biggest competitor and supporter all at once. 

They don’t talk much during the runs because they’re busy listening to their own music, so when they finish, chests heaving and backs hunched over, they start their walks. 

And Quinn loves these walks, because she loves New York and Sunday’s and Santana. 

“PR today?” Santana asks, breathless, and Quinn nods her head with a proud smile before they high-five. 

“You looked good, too,” Quinn hooks their arms together, the crisp air suddenly feeling cold as their heart rates slow. 

“You just like me in these leggings,” Santana smirks, and Quinn laughs loudly, because that’s not totally untrue. 

**eats cereal for dinner **

The one thing Quinn hates more than going back to Lima is going back without Santana. 

But her mom needed her and Frannie home for the weekend to help settle some legal stuff with Dad, and Santana had to work overtime on Saturday, so. Alas. 

She’s scheduled to fly home on Sunday morning, but sleeping alone in her childhood bedroom is a little less than appealing than just taking an earlier flight home and sleeping with her wife, so here Quinn is- making her way through the door of her and Santana’s apartment late at night to surprise her.

“Q,” Santana breathes out through a grin, and Quinn meets her at the dinner table with a kiss because she looks busy on her laptop. “What are you doing home?”

“I missed you too much or something,” Quinn teases before shrugging off her coat. 

“How was it?”

“Eh.” Quinn reaches around Santana to fiddle with the spoon swirling through a bowl of milk on the dining table. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Santana huffs, leaning back in her chair so she can pull Quinn into her lap. “I didn’t have time to cook and Postmates fees were stupid high today.”

“Baby, you have to take better care of yourself,” Quinn laughs a little before treating herself to a small bite of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. “No matter how good this is.”

“We just have to stop being apart,” Santana suggests, and Quinn’s arms wind around her neck, planting another kiss on her cheekbone. 

“Good point.”

**sleeps with a stuffed animal **

“San, where’s Edwin?” Quinn starts rustling through the sheets searching for the plush elephant, and Santana groans from where she’s half-asleep on her side of the bed.

“Dunno,” she mumbles into the covers, complaining when Quinn pulls them from beneath her chin. _ “Hey.” _

“You know I don’t like sleeping without him.”

“Yes, because who cares about your super hot wife laying in bed right next to you?” the sarcasm drips from Santana’s voice, and Quinn rolls her eyes. Some things never change. 

“Santana.”

_ “Fine. _ Top shelf of the closet.”

Quinn tosses a pillow at her on the way to retrieve him. Then she crawls into bed, satisfied. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Q,” Santana says, her voice back to tired and gentle. 

“Say goodnight to Edwin.”

“Goodnight, Edwin,” Santana non-committedly pats the elephant’s head. 

And Quinn thinks it’s kind of silly, the way Santana can be jealous of this tiny stuffed animal.

Especially when she wakes up the next morning and Santana’s arms aren’t wrapped around her because they’re wrapped around Edwin.

**remembers things **

Their friends think that Quinn is the more romantic one; probably because whenever they’re out for drinks or they’re back in Lima for some big reunion, Santana dismisses and laughs at the thought of commemorating small anniversaries. 

But, the truth of the matter is, Santana remembers _ everything_.

And it’s not just the big days like their anniversary, but smaller things, too. Like the day she knew she wanted to propose, the day she bought the ring, the day they moved into their apartment. Hell, she remembers the first time she successfully cooked them dinner without any of Quinn’s help. The potato wedges were a little burnt when she tried to recreate the meal, but the thought was still really sweet. 

It’s not that Quinn doesn’t remember she’s things; it’s just that they mean so much more to Santana than she’ll ever let on to anyone. 

So, when Quinn wakes up one morning to the feeling of Santana playing with the wedding ring on her finger, she peeks an eye open. “Hi,” she whispers, and Santana chuckles.

“Hi.” She scoots closer to kiss Quinn’s forehead, then rubs at the back of her neck. “Today’s a big day.”

“Yeah?” Quinn stretches, her mind wracking. She’s pretty sure this hasn’t been a date they’ve celebrated in the past. “How so?”

“Today was the day I fell in love with you. Like, a gazillion years ago.” 

“Hey, we’re not _ that _old yet,” Quinn grins, cupping Santana’s face to pull her in for another kiss. “You’ve never told me that before.”

“I couldn’t boost your ego too much,” Santana smirks, and Quinn feigns offense. 

“Oh, right, ok,” she plays along for a second. Then, “Love you.”

Santana gives her another kiss. “Love you, too.”

**has the other as their phone background **

“Oh, you _ love _me, or somethin’,” Santana teases, an entertained look in her eyes as she eyes Quinn’s lock screen; a picture of Santana she took on a balcony during their honeymoon in Italy. 

Quinn snatches her phone giddily, then tosses it to the other end of the couch. “Let me see yours, missy.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Santana starts to laugh, and Quinn pretty much has to wrestle her for a solid minute or two to slip the phone out of Santana’s back pocket. 

She clicks it on, and behind a missed call from Santana’s mom and a couple of texts from Mercedes is a picture of Quinn on their wedding day. Santana must’ve taken it some time after the reception, because her make-up is already off, hair is twisted into a half-done bun, and she's wearing one of Santana's Yale Law t-shirts. “Would you like to explain?” she teases, settled on top of Santana’s hips. 

“My wife is hot as shit,” Santana’s hands reach around Quinn to find her lower back, and Quinn leans down, planting a long, sensual kiss to Santana’s neck. 

“Good answer.”

**brings up the idea of kids**

“I love our family,” Quinn says abruptly, on the way home from Beth’s twelfth birthday party. When Santana shoots her a somewhat confused glance, “Like, you and me.” 

“Oh.” Santana smiles. “Yeah, babe. Me, too.” 

Quinn nods and swallows deeply. “And...I love it so much that I feel like we could add onto it.”

Santana taps her thumb on the steering wheel. “Yeah, we have Edwin.” 

“San, I’m serious,” she laughs, and Santana resigns.

“Ok, I’m sorry. What were you saying?” 

“It’s just,” Quinn struggles to be straightforward, for one of the few times in her life. “I see how you are with your nephews. And with Beth. And you’re- you’re so good with them.” She rambles a little more and starts fumbling with the zipper on her purse, her eyebrows furrowing when Santana pulls over to the side of the road. “Ok, what are you doing?” 

Santana unbuckles her seat belt and swivels in her seat to face Quinn. “Give me your hands, Q,” she says softly, and Quinn complies, albeit a bit lost. “Can you tell me what you mean?” her thumb rubs circles on Quinn’s knuckles. “Just feel like this is something we should be on the same page about.” 

Quinn laughs a little. “Yeah, you’re right,” she sighs. “Santana, I- I want to start having kids with you.” 

Santana chews on her bottom lip, grinning. “Mmm,” she hums. “A party of three, huh?” 

“A party of three,” Quinn confirms, 100% sure. “What do you think about that?” 

“I think,” Santana leans slowly over the center console, guiding Quinn’s lips towards hers. “I think you’re going to be such a MILF.” 

“Oh, _ Lord_,” Quinn starts laughing, lightly smacking Santana’s arm. 

“I’m kidding,” Santana pokes at Quinn’s ribs. “Well, I’m not, but. I guess I’m trying to say that I want this, too. I do.” 

So they spend the rest of the night hunched over Quinn’s laptop, researching sperm banks and entertaining different baby names. 

Santana’s pregnancy test is positive five months later to the date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully aforementioned road trip fic is completed before the final installment of this is, but alas. thanks as always for reading :')

**Author's Note:**

> thx for reading!


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